Wash thou me!
Earth so cool and moist,
Loved mother mine,
Cover me!”
Afrossinia was singing, sitting at her window in the fortress of St. Elmo. She was busily unpicking the red damask lining of her sand-coloured suit of disguise; nothing on earth, she had declared, would ever induce her to deck herself out in this ridiculous manner again.
She wore a dirty silk gown with all the buttons torn off; on her naked feet slippers, embroidered in silver and worn down at the heels. The pewter workbox before her contained various bits of stuff and ribbon, a small fan, gloves, love letters written by the Tsarevitch, envelopes with scented powder, an amulet given her by a saintly old man, “poudre Maréchal” from the celebrated hairdresser Frison, of Rue Saint Honoré, a rosary from Mount Athos, Parisian beauty-patches, and jars of pomade; she spent hours in painting her face, which was absolutely unnecessary, as her complexion was faultless. The Tsarevitch sat at the same table writing letters, which were destined to be anonymously circulated in Petersburg, and also handed to archdeacons and senators.
“Honoured Gentlemen of the Senate,—
“Your lordships, as well as the whole Russian nation, I presume, must be surprised at my unexplained absence and the mystery which surrounds me. My conduct was prompted by the way in which my behaviour was persistently misunderstood, and especially by what has happened since the beginning of last year, when I was almost forced to take the monk’s habit, without any misdeed on my part, a fact which is well known to everybody. But the all merciful Lord, moved by the prayers of the Holy Virgin, comforter of all the afflicted, and all the saints protected me and gave me shelter away from my beloved country, which, but for this sad occasion, I would never have left. At present I am in good heath, under the protection of a powerful Emperor, until the time when the Lord, who saved me, will command me to return to Russia, in which case I ask you to stand by me.
“If any report is circulated about me with the view of uprooting my memory from the minds of the people, if, for instance, it is said, that I am no longer among the living, or that some other mischief has befallen me, believe it not, and also try to prevent the nation believing it. Alive by God’s protection, I remain, wishing you and the whole nation well.
“Faithfully yours, to my grave,